The Predator (Dark Verse Book 1)

by RuNyx .

  Oh god, not now.

  With a burst of speed, not looking back even once, just as a plane roared into the sky, a hot gust of wind blew into her from behind, forcing her onto the ground. Heat seared her back as she fell on her front, the breath knocked out of her, the exposed skin at her neck and arms singed as the fabric tore at her back.

  Panting, Morana rolled onto her back, wincing with pain as she put pressure on the sensitive skin, the wound in her arm bleeding again, dirt coating her skin, as she looked back at the gate.

  A sob broke from her chest.

  Her car.

  Burning in flames.

  No, god, no.

  The sight seared itself into her vision, the tall flames of orange licking the red of her car, sucking its life away, turning it into charred black right before her eyes.

  Tears escaped her eyes as she looked at the one friend, the one constant she’d had for so long, be brutally murdered, pain and rage suffusing her with every passing moment. That car had been her freedom, her escape, her companion. That car had held her when she’d shouted songs at the top of her lungs and when she’d broken down in tears, delivering her to safety.

  That car.

  Her car.

  Morana looked at it, sobs bursting from her chest. Her father had done this. His men had done this.

  For one long minute, she stared at the burning mass of metal, mourned it for one long minute. Then, she buried the pain deep inside and let the rage take over.

  The men had to be nearby, to make sure she was dead, and to get the proof for their boss.

  Standing up, she wiped under her eyes and pulled out her gun from her waistband.

  They wanted death? She’d deliver it on a fucking platter with blood on the side.

  Wiping the remnants of all tears, Morana let the heat infuse her, and crouched down, creeping slowly towards the road from the inside, clearing her mind of all thoughts, all pain in her body ignored.

  After a few minutes of nearing the edge, the black SUV her father’s goons used came into view, parked a good distance away.

  Morana stayed crouched low, recognizing them.

  Two men. Only two men sent to take care of his daughter. But two of his closest men.

  Too bad.

  The men stood beside the vehicle, their gazes on the burning wreck where they thought she would be.

  She needed to take them out, make an example of her own, and send her father a clear message. Nobody messed with hers and got away with it unscathed. No one.

  She knew she couldn’t shoot one without alerting the other, and her body couldn’t handle a fight injured if she was spotted. It needed to be quick, efficient. Narrowing her eyes, Morana pointed the gun at the vehicle, at the gas tank to be specific, getting a clear shot from her vantage.

  Her hand shook slightly, but she steadied it.

  Set an example. Tell Daddy Dearest to fuck off.

  Taking a deep breath, Morana closed one eye, took her aim, and fired.

  The SUV was intact one second, blown up the next. It wasn’t like in the movies at all. It was done and over within seconds. She watched even as her arm recoiled as the same flames licked the vehicle and her father’s men along with it. She dropped down on her ass, exhausted, on the cold ground, feeling no satisfaction, nothing but emptiness.

  She sat there, hidden from view, behind two gravestones, wanting nothing more than to go to the penthouse and sleep. But she couldn’t go. Not without a car and not when her father’s other goons could very well be nearby.

  With shaking hands, she put the gun down and pulled out her phone, tears streaming down her face again.

  She knew she could call him. She somehow also knew that he would come.

  She wouldn’t. She was a mess, again, and she couldn’t make it a habit to let him help her. But then, who could she call? She had no one.

  Opening up her contacts, Morana stared at the third number right near the top, a number she’d acquired just recently, and swallowed, hitting call before she could think about it.

  She pressed the phone to her ear, pulling her knees up towards her chest and stared unseeingly at the ground as it rang.

  She bit her lip, deciding to hang up just as the call was answered and a soft, raspy voice came over.

  “Morana?”

  She could hear the surprise, the worry, the concern wrapped in that one little word, and it tipped her over.

  “Amara,” Morana spoke, her voice quivering. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “I’m glad you called but are you alright?” Amara’s soft tones were rife with concern.

  “Not really.”

  “Are you hurt? Tell me where you are, I’ll be right over.”

  “I’m… I’m okay,” Morana hiccupped. “I need your help. And I’d really appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone about this, please.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” came the immediate reply. “Just tell me what I can do.”

  “I need you to pick me up.”

  Morana told her the place, told her to be careful and make sure she wasn’t followed.

  “I’m ten minutes away. Sit tight, okay?”

  Morana nodded, her lips trembling. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Morana.”

  She put the phone down and away beside the gun and leaned back against the gravestone. Her back hurt, her skin sensitive from the blast but thankfully not burned. She stared up at the sky.

  So, that was that.

  Her car was dead. And she’d murdered someone, two someones, for the first time.

  She’d never thought she had it in her. Even though she’d never balked at hurting guys trying to hurt her. She’d never given much thought to if and when she would murder people, not in protection but in hatred, in vengeance. She had. She had retaliated, and she felt no remorse. She felt nothing. Not right now. Maybe she would later, but at the moment, she was nothing but one giant ball of empty.

  At least the stack with her father had crashed and burned. She knew exactly what he wanted to do, knew he would try to do it by any means, and she needed to be prepared.

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  Morana tilted her neck to see it flash on the screen.

  Tristan Caine: Tsk tsk, wildcat. You should have at least allowed me another punch at your father before you signed on my death warrant. Now I have to take the liberty myself. Where’s the fun in that?

  Morana read the text, a laugh bubbling out of her as she hit reply. How did he even know? Had her father done something? Besides blowing a bomb with the intent of killing her, that is?

  Me: Damn. I know right? I asked him how his nose was, though.

  Tristan Caine: That must have been colorful.

  Me: He used a lot of cuss words for you.

  Tristan Caine: No gentleman, him.

  Morana smiled, shaking her head.

  Me: You’re one to talk, mister.

  Tristan Caine: I told you I wasn’t a gentleman that very first night.

  Morana remembered that conversation that first night in Tenebrae, at the mansion, with her knives at her throat and him pressed into her front.

  Me: Yes, you did. It’s a good thing I’m not into gentlemen. Gentlemen can’t handle me.

  Tristan Caine: I don’t think anyone can handle you. Not if you don’t want to be handled.

  Morana read the message, her heart thundering. That was probably the nicest, most empowering thing anyone had ever said to her – that she was strong enough to handle herself, that she chose who she allowed to handle her. It was especially surprising, considering the kind of world she’d lived in.

  Me: Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.

  Amara’s incoming call filled the screen. Morana picked up and quickly directed her towards her location. Another message waited for her, a message that sobered her up completely, bringing back what she’d managed to forget for a few blissful seconds.

  Tristan Caine: I think my guards
are afraid of you.

  She read the message once. Twice. It was written in the same teasing tone that she couldn’t imagine talking to him blatantly in, but the answer in her heart was slowly eating at the emptiness.

  Me: They should be. After all, I just blew up a car and killed two men in cold blood.

  She put her phone away before he could respond and saw Amara emerge from behind the trees. The other woman, as gorgeous as she was, was dressed in a rumpled shirt, jeans, and a printed scarf around her neck, her hair tied in a lopsided ponytail, as though she’d dressed in a hurry. That fact warmed something inside Morana that someone had dropped whatever they’d been doing to come for her.

  Something heavy lodged in her throat as she saw her come closer and raised a hand, waving her over.

  She saw Amara’s step falter as the other woman took in Morana’s appearance. Between the dirt on her skin and her disheveled hair, the slightly torn and dirty clothes and the invisible neon sign that hung over her head screaming ‘she’s miserable’, she was pretty sure Amara knew something quite drastic had happened.

  She finally stopped in front of Morana, and without a thought to dirt or grass or whatnot, dropped down on her ass, leaning back against the headstone opposite hers. Silently, without asking a word, the other woman rummaged through her handbag and brought out a sealed bottle of water, handing it to her.

  Morana took the cap off, put the bottle to her mouth and chugged down the water with thirsty sips. The cool drink flowed down her throat, making her groan in bliss. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she’d been until she tasted the delicious water.

  After she’d had her fill, Morana washed her hands and splashed some on her face, taking deep breaths, trying to clean herself as much as possible.

  “This is quite pretty for a graveyard.”

  Amara’s soft words made Morana look up at her. Seeing the concern in her dark green eyes, Morana took a deep breath.

  “It is. The best view is on the other end of it, though. Near the gate.”

  Amara’s eyebrows hiked up. “I don’t think you mean the burned vehicles.”

  Morana chuckled. “No, I don’t mean the burned vehicles. But we have to talk about them, don’t we?”

  “Only if you want to, Morana,” Amara’s rasp made the words even sweeter. Morana was pretty sure, by this point, she was more than half in love with Amara. It was impossible for her not to love her.

  And after everything she’d done for her, she deserved a friend. As did Morana. Everything be damned, she was going to make a friend.

  Just because she’d lost everything known to her didn’t mean she couldn’t find something beautiful in the unknown.

  With that thought, Morana cleared her throat. “I’ve discovered a lot of things about myself and the people around me recently, Amara. And nothing is what it appears to be.”

  The other woman tilted her head for her to continue without interrupting once.

  Morana smiled slightly at that.

  “I know about Luna,” she told her, watching her eyes widen slightly. “I know about all the disappearances and about the victims. I know I was one of those babies too, the only one to have been found.”

  Amara swallowed visibly, nodding. “Yes, you were. Not everyone knows it though. It was kept very quiet.”

  Morana nodded back, not pushing. “I know those kidnappings have something to do with the Alliance, maybe even my own abduction. And I know he doesn’t hate me for being alive and here when his sister isn’t.”

  Amara’s eyes filled with a sheen of tears as she bit her lip. But she didn’t utter a word, and for some reason, that loyalty made Morana respect her even more.

  Morana continued. “I know my father doesn’t care one iota for me. Something bigger than me is going on, with the codes, with everything. I know it. I know my own father put the hit on me, bombed my car and almost killed me. But I don’t understand why. Why did he do that?”

  Amara swallowed, her deep green eyes shining with sincerity. “I’m so sorry.”

  Morana nodded. “I just killed two men, and when I had nobody to turn to, I decided to put my faith in you. I just want you to know that if you decide to reciprocate, I wouldn’t betray you.”

  She paused, then stated plainly, her heart clenching. “I don’t have anyone to betray you to, Amara. The man who’s supposed to protect me wants me dead, and the man who’s supposed to kill me offers me protection. Convoluted as that is, I wouldn’t betray that act of kindness. I’ve not known a lot of it, and what little I have has come from you and Dante and him. I cannot betray that.”

  She took a deep breath. “But the fact is simple – I don’t know who Tristan Caine was. Who he is. Help me understand him. Help me fight.”

  Amara leaned her head back, staring up at the sky for a long moment. Morana gave her the time to mull things over, before the other woman spoke again, in an even softer tone of voice.

  “I know why he hates you, Morana. Not because he confided in me. He doesn’t confide in anybody. He doesn’t let anyone even close to him. As lonely as all of us are, he’s the loneliest of us all.”

  Morana’s heart clenched as the memory of a rainy night and glass windows filtered through her. She watched in silence as a tear streaked Amara’s cheek as she continued speaking.

  “Dante knew the truth because he’s the heir. And in a moment of trust, to ease the helplessness of seeing his brother bleed but being unable to do anything about it, he told me. And I swore to him on my life that Tristan’s truth would never escape from my lips.”

  Morana heard the unsaid ‘but’ hovering in the air between them. She bit her tongue, not willing to break the moment.

  Another tear ran down Amara’s face.

  “I see how he looks at you. Despite knowing about you all my life, I never thought he’d be as he is with you.”

  “How is he with me?” the words escaped her softly before she could think about them.

  Amara didn’t look down at her, kept staring at the clouds overhead, her lips curling slightly.

  “Alive.”

  Morana felt something pass through her heart. A current, a zap, a something.

  “There’s no other word for it. That’s why I don’t believe he can truly ever hurt you. Because after tasting life, you don’t really ever let it go, do you?”

  No. She hadn’t.

  His insistent words from the morning came to her.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’

  Was Amara right?

  Morana stayed quiet, contemplating.

  “I like you, Morana,” Amara finally looked down at her, her eyes determined but pained. “I would love nothing more than to have you as my friend. Which is also why I believe I should warn you. Knowing Tristan, knowing why he holds that hatred so close to himself, he will inevitably hurt you. Not because he wants to, but because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s lived for twenty years without feeling an ounce of affection for anyone but Dante and I. And only an ounce. We know it, and we accept it. Are you sure you’ll be able to?”

  Morana blinked, her heart pounding. “What are you asking me, Amara?”

  Amara took a deep breath. “I want you to know the reasons, Morana. I want you to know, woman to woman, friend to friend but also because you’re the only one I think can save Tristan from himself. To do that, you need to know the truth. To do that, you need to understand and accept that it will be anything but easy and Tristan himself will be the biggest roadblock in your path.”

  Her hands shaking slightly, Morana inhaled deeply, pondering Amara’s words.

  “The truth will change the way you understand him, Morana. It will change things for you, but it won’t change things for him. Do you still want to know?”

  God, this was a mess.

  To know or not to know, that was the question.

  Ignorance is bliss, they said. Sorry, ancient philosopher, ignorance sucked.

  But once she knew, she could never go back. They could never g
o back. How would it change things between them? How would it change things between their families? And if he decided to be rid of her because she’d found out the truth and he hadn’t wanted that, what then?

  She could leave this all behind and go away.

  No, she couldn’t. Not anymore. Not until she knew everything about herself that she hadn’t known existed.

  The conflict inside her, the worry, the anger, the curiosity, all tangled together in a knot lodged right in her chest, making her breaths heavy and heart sore. Twisting sensations ran amok in her stomach, as Morana closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, and nodded.

  “I want to know.”

  With those words, she sealed her fate. She knew she wouldn’t be the same again.

  With those words, she leaned back and opened her eyes, her hands trembling again as Amara, slowly, softly, began to talk.

  Tristan, 8 years old.

  Tenebrae City.

  He was scared.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here.

  Tristan knew he was breaking a rule even as he pushed himself as high as his small toes would allow. His short body leaned against the pillar as he tried to look into the dining hall at the big house. It was a big space, with tall lamps at every corner of the room, lighting the area brightly, side tables scattered close to the walls. There was a long brown table in the center, with twenty chairs on each side and two at the heads of the table. The walls were the same stone the big house was made of, the name of which he couldn’t remember, and the curtains were deep blue in color. Tristan liked the color. He liked the room too.

  He’d only been inside the house twice before, both times when the Boss had been holding some party. His mother had helped organize everything. Tristan was keen to see this dinner meeting, while his dad protected the Boss.

  It was a very important job, Tristan had been told enough times. Which was why his mother always left him out in the garden to play and never let him in the house. The two times he’d sneaked in, he’d just roamed around the large halls and escaped back, scared someone would see him and complain.